Quarter After One
by Jayneysuk
Summary: One conversation changes everything. An Isobel Richard piece set post season two. The title comes from the Lady Antebellum song.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Quarter After One**  
**Pairing: Isobel and Richard**  
**Rating: K (may change as story progresses)**  
**Summary: One conversation changes everything.**  
**Spoilers: Set sometime after the end of season two but nothing specific.**  
**Disclaimer: The characters here in are not mine and as such I make no financial gain. I take them out, play a little and return them as is.

Authors Notes: The love the song the Lady Antebellum and just had to write a fic around it.**  
**For Cathy. I hope you like.

**Quarter After One**

Part One

The bedroom was in darkness, the dark cloudy night preventing even the faintest of light from the moon filtering through the curtains. Isobel lay caught up in the quilt, the pillows discarded on the floor in one of her more frustrated moments, her arm flung over her eyes, blocking out the room, as she tried to force her body to give in to the exhaustion. It was to no avail. Finally, she sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a deep groan and throwing the covers to one side in a flamboyant gesture of irritation. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she sleep wasn't going to be forthcoming any time soon and being awake was only precipitating her dispirited thoughts.

Reaching out one hand, she gently felt her way over the small bed side table, finally locating her gold wrist watch. The black hands against the white dial showed it was quarter past one, causing her to elicit a deep moan. It had been three hours since she had first climbed into bed, a little longer since she had watched him, him being the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with, walk out of her house for the last time. For the first hour she had sobbed pathetically into her pillow, clutching one of his shirts tightly against her face, mourning their relationship until her throat was bone dry and she felt emotionally and physically drained. Briefly she had closed her eyes, but instead of enduring a fitful sleep, which would have been somewhat of a godsend, she had tossed and turned endlessly, replaying the evening in her head, wondering how her life had so easily fallen apart. It all sounded a little melodramatic, even to her own ears, more akin to Edith's lamenting than her own, but she couldn't help herself. One simple conversation and she could never imagine being happy again.

The evening itself had started so pleasantly. Richard had arrived early, greeting her with a chaste kiss, his hand lingering on her arm as they walked through the house, a romantic a gesture as they allowed themselves in the company of others. At dinner they had sat across the table from one another, his fingers reaching across the linen to graze hers whenever they were alone. Even within the confines of her own home they were discrete but affectionate, enjoying whatever moments they could steal together. As always the conversation had been easy, witty and often times flirty. There was no indication that within an hour there would come a turning point in their relationship and she would find herself doubting everything he had ever said and every moment they had shared.

With his hand gently resting on her lower back, she had allowed him to guide her into the drawing room. Richard had poured them each a glass of port and they had settled themselves on the small sofa by the fire as they did most evenings. The conversation had flowed comfortably for a few minutes before turning to the upcoming garden party at the Abbey, and that is where it all seemed to go wrong.

Isobel let out another groan in frustration and dropped unceremoniously back on the bed. In all fairness to Richard she had blind sighted him a little, although really knowing her as he did he should have been prepared. With the torrent of emotions that were cascading through her body she wasn't prepared to forgive him quite so soon.

They were discussing how much money the party would raise for the hospital and which equipment he could purchase, (his devotion to and belief in his little cottage hospital had always been endearing to her), when she had suggested they attend together. His face had contorted in something resembling disbelief and possibly horror, shaking his head vehemently as she had found herself turning into a hysterical school girl. Richard had tried to placate her with his quiet gentle tone which only served to annoy her. He had made it abundantly clear that they would go separately, but could maybe sit and take afternoon tea together. She had protested that it was perhaps the perfect opportunity to spend time together and 'out' themselves to the family, her family. Perfect because in such a public setting no one was likely to openly comment. Their sort of people were more discrete, or so cousin Violet frequently informed her. Hysterics had given way to frustration and annoyance, which seemed to surprise him a little but did nothing to change his mind. Richard had chosen that moment to dispute the need to tell anyone; which she supposed meant ever. That was when the rails came off completely.

Isobel still couldn't believe they disagreed on something so fundamental; Richard was adamant that he didn't want anyone to know about them, she was ready for everyone to know; she wanted to marry him, he hadn't considered marriage at all. She was only too thankful they were too old to consider starting a family together. It was fairly evident that he would disagree on that too. He had insisted that he loved her although, now in the darkness of the night, even that seemed like a distorted figment of her imagination. While she was pretty sure he cared more for her than just using her for a physical release, she was also convinced that after almost seven years of courting the time was upon them to take the next step. As it turned out it was she who was blind sighted by how little she knew the man she purported to love. The discussion had ended abruptly when one or other of them had suggested that maybe it was time to end their entanglement. The fact the other had agreed, or tacitly acknowledged there was no point arguing, was neither here nor there.

Richard had left, wishing her goodnight as though they had enjoyed a typical evening, his manners as exemplary as ever. As she stood in the hallway watching him walk away she felt Moseley's scrutiny and not wanting to endure it any longer she had feigned a headache. It was in the privacy of her bedroom that she had succumbed to her emotions, collapsing onto the bed and allowing the tears to fall.

She liked to think of herself as progressive; she had fought for woman's rights, took a profession when girls her age were finding husbands, and had taken a lover, a younger one at that, later in life, when knitting, writing and gardening should have been her outlets. But, and it was a big but, she wanted to be married to the man she loved, to be able to walk down the street hand in hand. She wanted to play his devoted wife, sharing his bed all night and spending her days indulging her grandchildren with him by her side.

Isobel glanced at the watch again, noting with irritation that it was barely ten minutes since she last checked. Resigned to a long night of troubled thoughts, she climbed out of bed, wrapping her robe around her and slipping on her slippers. Quietly, she tiptoed along the landing and down the stairs to the kitchen, intending to find a remedy to aid her sleep.

The house was silent, the staff, she hoped, asleep and Matthew away at the big house. It was rare that she was allowed in the kitchen, simple pleasures like cooking and baking no longer her domain, and it was only at night and the half day every other Tuesday that she had the freedom to indulge in her favourite pastime. Filling the kettle she placed it on the stove, waiting for the familiar hiss before locating the teapot and a solitary cup and saucer.  
**  
**Footsteps, heavy and weary echoed from the hallway and she knew before the door opened who would impose on her reverie.

"Mrs Crawley, is everything alright?" Moseley asked, hovering in the doorway, his hair stuck to his scalp, his gown tied haphazardly. "Only I heard a noise and thought we might have intruders."

She turned and forced a smile. So much for peace and privacy she mused. There was something oddly unsettling about him as he stood watching her in his dressing gown, her in her nightgown, gown barely draping her body. He had seen her in the nightclothes before but she had never felt quite so vulnerable. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact he knew about Richard when no one else did.

"Yes, I just wanted a drink," she stated, politeness winning over annoyance, wrapping her arms protectively over her chest as he stared at her. "Please go back to bed."

"Would you like me to make it for you," he offered, taking a step closer until she backed against the sink.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." As his eyes appraised her, she realised that she probably looked anything but.

"Yes, Mrs Crawley." He turned, prepared to leave, if a little reluctantly. Her voice stopped him.

"I won't be going to the hospital tomorrow so don't worry about waking me. I'll take breakfast in the dining room when I wake up." She hoped she sounded confident because even as she said it she wavered, wondering how she could go a day without seeing him.

"Yes, Mrs Crawley."

He finally left her alone in the room, the kettle whistling behind her, giving her a task to momentarily occupy her mind. She would miss the hospital, it had given her a purpose and an outlet since she had moved to Downton and become part of the upper classes. But he would be there, it was his place of work, she couldn't and wouldn't put either of them through that. Instead she would focus on refugees or returning servicemen.

Isobel sat at the table, the steaming hot cup on the waxed surface beside her. As she sat there nursing her cup, her thoughts drifted to other nights; nights when she would stand at the bottom of the stairs and watch him sneak out into the night like a thief when all she wanted was to beg him to stay. Often she would awake to find him already gone, the depression on the white pillowcase the only evidence he had been there at all and she would hug the pillow to her until she drifted back to sleep. There were nights when they would stay up and she would fix them tea and sandwiches in bed and they would laugh and joke even when, or maybe in spite of, the world going to hell around them. She bit back a sob as it threatened to engulf her. There would be no more nights of any kind for them, she was sure of that, even before she heard the door close behind him with a resounding thud. Fresh tears cascaded over her cheeks as she remembered his face as he suggested calmly and quietly that if he couldn't give her what she wanted then maybe it was time to walk away. Possibly she had been too stunned at the time or maybe she hadn't really thought he was serious but he was gone before the reality sunk in.

The tears were flowing freely and she swiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed at the state she found herself. Even as silence echoed through the house, the fear of Molesley's return or even Mrs Bird finding her in such a way caused her concern. Finally she rose to her feet and tipped the almost full cup down the sink. Daylight would be upon her soon and she needed to at least try and get a little sleep. A few hours might be all that sustained her through the days to come. With a heavy heart she headed back through the house, knowing that she would have to find a way to move on and learn how to conceal the broken heart she would probably nurse for the rest of her life.


	2. A Long Night At The Office

Authors Notes: This has been the hardest chapter to write - My inner Richard wasn't willing to play but he had to be written.

Part Two

The thing that Richard had come to appreciate most about being a doctor, more importantly being a doctor in a busy cottage hospital, was that there was always something to do. Between rounds, minor surgery and the tedious bore of paperwork he could practically fill his eight to five day with a little time for a quick lunch break thrown in. Then there were home visits, whether to deliver babies, deal with the latest health crisis of someone at the big house or to check in on a patient after discharge. Free time was something he had little of. Before Isobel he had frequently worked into the night, often falling asleep in his office. Her presence in his life, the evolution of their relationship from friends to lovers, had curtailed that. Instead he stayed at Crawley House, sneaking back to the cottage to wash and change before making an early start on work. He had gone to great lengths to made sure that nothing at the hospital suffered because he finally had a life. Or at least he had tried to have a life, carefully juggling the hospital, Isobel, and his social standing, while not being able to share his happiness with anyone.

As the door to Crawley House had swung shut behind him he had stood still, struggling to catch his breath in the wake of what had transpired. His head was spinning, and his feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move under the weight of his shock. Minutes passed before he regained his composure, an internal debate carrying on in his head about what to do next. A light flicked on in her bedroom and he watched as a shadow moved in front of the window. He waited a minute longer, hoping she would come to the window but instead the light went off plunging the room back into darkness. Heavy hearted he moved one foot in front of the other, intent on heading home. Thankfully it was a well worn path because his mind remained elsewhere.

He loved Isobel, in truth probably had almost from the day she had walked into the hospital for the first time. Even then he had been a little in awe of her. Women were supposed to be meek, doting and agreeable but she was anything but. A woman ahead of her time he had called her more than once as they argued about a patient or she came to him journal in hand pushing for a new procedure. He had fallen in love, head over heels, with her but she was way out of his league so he had admired from a far. It had taken the announcement of war for them to lower the emotional wall that had held firm between them, then a particularly intense argument had changed everything. For years they had conducted a relationship, one that was founded in love, built on honesty and steeped in passion. Those things hadn't changed, nor had the world, despite living through a war, and when faced with announcing themselves to the world, he had again been reminded that she was out of his league. As he headed home, he allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts, happy memories merging with recollections from the evening. When he finally brought himself back to reality, trying to persuade himself that things would look better come dawn, he found himself at the gate to the hospital. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed open the gate and made his way down the corridor towards his office.

The nurses on duty, if a little surprised to see him, welcomed him with a smile. For a few minutes he allowed them to update him on his patients, signing charts and giving orders before slipping away.

Richard had unbuttoned his jacket as he settled himself at his desk. The files were as he left them, piled high, awaiting his notes. Once upon a time he wouldn't have left the hospital until they were complete and filed but dinner with Isobel was more appealing and he had rushed out of the door at six. Frustrated and in need of something else to focus on, he pulled the pen from his pocket and began to work his way through the folders. Paperwork probably wasn't the best distraction for his mood, he had quickly discerned, if anything it allowed his mind to wander with boredom, but sleep was proving evasive and laying awake thinking about her was only going to add to his despair. Better to keep busy and be practical at the same time.

A knock on the door broke into his reverie and he found himself calling, "Come."

A nurse appeared in the door way clutching a cup of steaming tea. "I thought you might like some tea, doctor."

"Thank you," he said with a weak smile, tossing his pen on the desk.

"I found a couple of biscuits in the tin so I popped them on the saucer for you." She gave him a conspiratory smile and placed the cup on the desk in the middle of his self perpetuated chaos.

His nurses, it seemed, were quite fond of him, if the constant supply of tea, cakes and biscuits were any indication. That, and the fact not a single one of them had abandoned him since the war broke out. They had taken on the extra work at the big house without complaint, rewarding his faith in them with miracles of their own. Even with the return to peacetime they had stayed, adapting to the changing needs of the hospital.

"If you don't mind me saying, you should get some sleep. It will be light soon enough."

Richard glanced down at his watch and was startled to see it was after two. "I'd forgotten how involved one can get. If someone can wake me at six I'll take the cot here tonight."

She nodded. "Of course, I'll get Maud to knock before we start breakfast." Satisfied, that he was going to be staying, the nurse left.

The tea was strong and hot, just the way he liked it, which only served to remind him of the woman he had left almost four hours before. Isobel had a strength that he admired. Even in the wake of Matthew's injury, she had kept herself together, nursing him and still raising money for the hospital. Throughout the war she had served by his side, baring witness to some of the most horrific injuries with constant love and compassion. He was in awe of Isobel and he loved her with a passion he hadn't thought himself capable of. Respect had come two-fold with love. That love had ceased to be enough, it had proved not to be unconditional. Her conditions for them to be together were more than he could agree to.

As he removed his jacket and tie and hung up his shirt, his thoughts were of her, and the look of devastation on her face as he left. He knew she didn't understand but he wasn't sure he could explain his reservations to her without admitting how profoundly he cared. How could she respect him after he lay himself bare to her. And his explanation wasn't going to change the impasse they now found themselves at. There was no going back. She had made it clear with her desire for them to be married.

Pulling the single white sheet over him, he lay down on the metal bed, thumping the pillow in frustration until it moulded to his head. He had imagined his night ending slightly differently but in resignation he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

...

Richard slowly opened his eyes and scrunched them tightly closed again as sunlight streamed into the room. Rolling over to face the wall, he tried again. As he became accustomed to the bright light he remembered where he was which in turn lead to his remembering why. He could think of more pleasant ways to wake up, all of which involved having his arms around her tiny frame, his fingers tangled in her hair, her lips quite frankly anywhere on his body. He let out a groan as he felt the all too familiar stirrings in his body and tried unsuccessfully to will them away. He struggled to sit up, tugging the sheet with him in case anyone dare enter his office unbidden, his feet landing finally on the cold wooden floor. Gripping the sheet with one hand, he ran his free hand over his face, rubbing the last hint of sleep from his features and noting the first hint of stubble. How easy it would be to allow the beard to grow, to become rugged and unkempt as he had during the African war, but he was a young man then, one with fewer responsibilities. Unfortunately people seemed to prefer their doctor to be clean shaven and professional which meant he needed to get cleaned up. He wondered what Isobel would make of him should he give in to youthful temptation but those thoughts brought him back to reality with a bump. In truth he couldn't imagine she thought much at all of him at the moment.

A timid knock on the door broke into his reverie and he held the sheet a little firmer as he made his way towards the chair and his clothes. "Yes?"

"Would you like a cup of tea, doctor?" Maud asked through the door.

Another shift, another nurse and more tea – it was a familiar pattern.

"In about five minutes, thank you Maud."

He heard the gentle clomp of shoes against tile as she headed off down the corridor.

Quickly he dressed in the same suit he had worn the previous evening, pulling on his white coat to conceal the fact. He was just ransacking the drawer where he kept his toiletry kit when there was another knock on the door.

"I brought you some tea. There is a choice of porridge or toast for breakfast," another nurse announced as he permitted her entry.

"Toast, please. I'll clean up and then I'd like to start rounds." If he was fortunate, rounds would take up the majority of his morning, focusing his attention on something other than Isobel.

It was lunch time before he returned to his office. In the intervening hours someone had been in and removed the empty cups and made up the bed in the corner. His desk, as always remained untouched, everyone but Isobel too scared to move anything for fear of setting off his temper.

He hadn't expected to her to come to the hospital, he wasn't even sure if she would ever want to work with him again, but that didn't prevent him for looking out for her. Every time the door opened he glanced up, only to be disappointed by whoever entered, his thoughts drifting off when the nurses voice at his side wasn't hers. As he went about his day - the rounds, the examinations, removing the splinter from little Georges finger - he tried to suppress the feeling that he had lost the best thing that ever happened to him, but it continued to nag at him constantly. If the other nurses were surprised by her absence no-one questioned it, at least in his presence, which made him wonder how careful they had really been.

The day finally over and the handover complete he returned to his office to remove his white coat and fetch his jacket. It had been a long day, with little time to dwell on the future, and in some ways that had made it easier. The walk to the cottage took him in the opposite direction to Crawley House but he couldn't resist the urge to glance in that direction. The house looked exactly as it always did, a solitary light on in her bedroom, curtains drawn against the cool Autumn evening, signs that she was home. His heart was heavy as he turned back to the road and continued on his way, knowing as he did so that he had a night alone to think about her. It was going to be a long one.


	3. The Bearer Of News

**For Lavender and Hay, with thanks. **

**Part Three**

Richard had barely settled himself at the table to eat the dinner his housekeeper had left in the cool box when there was the all too familiar knock at the door. The meal discarded, he grabbed his coat and medical bag, locked up his house in the knowledge he might not be back till morning, and followed his caller out into the night. He should have known that it couldn't last. In the eighteen years since he had taken over as doctor at the cottage hospital in Downton barely a week had gone by when he hadn't been summoned to the big house. The Earl always sent a car and chauffeur but on particularly worrying nights one of the daughters usually appeared at his door, brow furrowed and panic starting to set in. This evening it was Edith's turn and she continued to talk incessantly as they climbed into the car and took the short ride to the Abbey.

Once they had alighted Mr Carson had ushered him through the great hall and up the staircase that led to the family rooms. While the older man was as proper and professional as always, the conversation infrequent, he looked every bit as concerned as Edith had. They finally came to a halt at the end of the female corridor at the bedroom of the eldest Grantham daughter.

Matthew hovered outside the door, worry etched on his own face as he paced up and down. "Doctor," he greeted with equal measure of relief and fear, a man with the worry of the world on his shoulder.

Richard knocked on the door and was unsurprised when Anna opened the door. She gave him a small smile and nod before allowing him a better view into the room and of the only occupant, then indicating he should step inside. The door closed behind him with a gentle click and Anna took up her position at the end of the bed.

"Thank you for coming, Doctor Clarkson," Mary said with a wane smile.

"Of course, M'Lady." Richard opened his bag and moved closer to the young woman. "I believe you fainted. May I check your pulse?" With her small nod of acquiescence he began his examination.

It took barely five minutes for him to diagnose the problem and settle the young woman's fears. Her husband had re-entered the room as Anna had slipped silently from it, dispatched to fetch sweet tea and biscuits while Richard found himself shepherded back down the staircase to the drawing room by the ever present Butler.

"I'm sorry your Lordship, Mr Carson said you wanted to see me," Richard announced as he found himself standing in the middle of the room with several pairs of eyes staring at him, the Butler disappearing once more into the background. Although he directed his comments at the Earl, Richard allowed his gaze to rest momentarily on the women present before his eyes naturally sought out the woman sat quietly on the sofa clutching her hands. He hadn't expected to see her there but then the days had become blurred into one and he hadn't realised that it was Saturday. His heart almost skipped a beat and he felt the room close in around him.

"I wanted to know how my daughter is, we all do," Robert said, his tone laced with concern.

Cora smiled brightly at him, and he knew she already suspected. A mother's intuition he supposed and he had to force himself not to look in Isobel's direction, knowing that her love for Matthew had triggered suspicions of her own. **  
**  
"I'm not sure it is my place, M'Lord. Mr Crawley will be down shortly."

Robert opened his mouth, prepared to argue his case that he was her father but his wife shot him a look in warning and he thought better of it. "Then please stay and have a drink. It is the least we can do after dragging you out of your home this evening. Unless we are keeping you from something, someone even." His eyebrow arched in question.**  
**  
Richard found himself inevitably glancing in her direction, wanting for a second to declare that there would never be anyone waiting for him again in the hope that she would find a way to take him back into her heart. Instead her dark brown eyes glanced up, with a lost dejected look in them, and he could only offer her a small smile. His eyes met hers again as he heard himself say confidently, "No, I can stay."

...

One glass became two as they all waited patiently for Matthew to return to the Drawing room, the conversation turning to the hospital fund raiser and garden party. Once again Richard was forced to relive the reason for his unhappiness. Isobel for her part looked almost sympathetic as he tried to change the subject, unsuccessfully. When the door finally opened he let out a sigh of relief.

Matthew appeared at the door, his hair slightly ruffled, his jacket creased and he hovered there, an idiotic look on his face.

"Is everything alright, Matthew?" Robert asked, bemused by his son in laws appearance. "How is Mary?"

"Mary is pregnant. We're having a baby," he announced without preamble, grinning from ear to ear

Richard saw the change in Isobel immediately, the spark of unashamed happiness that crossed her features, the lightness with which she crossed the room and embraced her son. It was a welcome sight, bringing a beautiful glow to her face.

A smile tweaked at his lips as he envisioned Granny Isobel. In that minute he wanted to engulf her in his arms and celebrate with her, ignoring everything that he had said a few days ago. He knew, if he wasn't so set in his ways, wasn't so worried about what people would say about her, and hadn't been raised by a father who believed in maintaining a person's station at all costs, that they would be side by side, enjoying the moment.

"Thank you so very much, Dr Clarkson," Matthew said enthusiastically, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, breaking into his pipe dream of what ifs.

"I didn't do anything," he protested half-heartedly.

Matthew shook his head. "You gave us the best news we could ever have, the very best."

"As you said I just passed on the news."

"Please have another drink to celebrate."

Carson appeared at his side, topping up his glass and nodding at him, his own thanks in his small smile, as Matthew slipped away.

After a few minutes of watching the celebration carry on around him, Richard moved around the room, his glass still full, until he was barely inches from the woman he had not seen or spoken to for five days.

Isobel stood by the piano, her smile, so genuine moments before at the news, disappearing at his approach, her shoulders stiffening as she prepared to speak to him for the first time in days. She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes as she tried to compose herself. All evening she had been anticipating the moment, torn between needing to know if they could ever be friends again, and dreading the moment when they would have to act cordially while inevitably all eyes would be on them. Now that it was upon them she was fearful that she would fall apart.

"I was just about to leave, go back to the hospital, but I didn't want to leave without speaking to you," he said softly but loudly enough that no one could read more into the conversation. "I wanted to say congratulations, Mrs Crawley, you are going to be a grandmother." As she lifted her head to look at him, he smiled fondly.

"Thank you," she replied hesitantly, her lips quirking up into a smile. "I really can't wait to hold him, or her. I can still remember Matthew as a baby."

"They will be one very lucky child," he offered, awkwardness seeping into the conversation.

Isobel bobbed her head slightly. "And I know Mary will be in the best hands."

Richard shrugged his shoulders,not from embarrassment from from resignation

"Don't be modest, doctor," she chided lightly.

"I would imagine that they will be consulting a doctor in Ripon or York. I would concede that a lowly village doctor is probably not what they want for the heir."

Isobel rolled her eyes with a dramatic flair. "There you go again, putting yourself down. You are a good doctor and you have a personal interest in this baby." Or she hoped he still did. If things had continued on the right path he would be her husband and the child would be his grandchild by marriage.

"I would in light of things be honoured to care for Mary through her confinement. But time will tell." He took a deep breath, torn between not wanting to dredge up the difficulties between them, and wanting to acknowledge that things were not as he wanted. Lowering his voice, he turned slightly, putting his body between her and the family. "We, that is to say, I, have missed you at the hospital."

A weak smile crossed her lips. "I feel that maybe I have been spending rather too much time at the hospital. I am needed elsewhere. There are other demands on my time." Her voice wavered. "I think I am going to take a break from nursing, probably not forever," she offered, knowing in her heart that she would never go back if they couldn't salvage something from their relationship. "It's probably for the best. And now with the baby. . . "she trailed off, before she offered more excuses for avoiding him.

The best for who, he wondered, as she glanced lovingly at her son. Certainly not for him. They worked so well together, she was his sounding board when he doubted the wisest course of action, and he loved having her around. Of course she was also an asset to the hospital. She had learnt basic nursing skills in order to assist during wartime but as the wife of a doctor she had learnt more than some of his newer nurses would pick up in a lifetime. Without her he wasn't sure if his little hospital held the same meaning anymore. Not for the first time that week he wondered if maybe after eighteen years it was time to move on, leaving his home and the village.

"Anyway, Doctor Clarkson, you said you needed to get back, and I wouldn't want to hold you up. Thank you for coming so promptly tonight and for giving us the most wonderful news," she continued with a false bravado, the accompanying smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"I am very glad I could alleviate your fears. Goodnight, Mrs Crawley." He watched as she crossed the room to join her family. It was only the first time they had talked since that night and he already hated the way things were between them. Of course things wouldn't return to normal over night. It was impossible to imagine that they could go from lovers back to friends without some degree of strain.

"Excuse me your Lordship. I need to be getting back to the hospital," Richard started, crossing the room purposefully, once again veiling his personal emotion behind his professional demeanour.

"Really? It's only nine."

Robert placed the glass on the side table and nodded. "There is always paperwork and I have patients to follow up on. Thank you for the drink."

"Thank you for coming so promptly. Carson will show you out." Robert extended his hand and waited for the doctor to take it.

Richard turned to the room, his eyes fleetingly resting on Isobel, before addressing the Dowager. "Goodnight, everyone."

There was a chorus of good nights as he followed the butler to the front door. Outside the chauffeur waited by the car, jumping to attention when the doctor appeared.

"Where would you like me to drop you?" the young man asked, moving to open the door.

He looked between the car and the long driveway that would lead him back to the village, making a sudden decision. "I think I'm going to walk. Her ladyship will probably be in need of your services shortly and the fresh air will hopefully wake me up a little."

The chauffeur looked unconvinced.

"Besides I should probably follow my own advice." Pulling his coat a little tighter around him, he set off down the drive, unaware of the small figure watching him from the drawing room.

Isobel watched him go, her fingers toying gently with her wine glass. It had been harder than she had imagined it would be, trying to remain civil and cordial with the man only a few days before she had envisioned spending the rest of her life with. He was the same man, smiling at her kindly, his hand restless at his side as he tried to have what constituted a normal conversation. Except it wasn't in the least normal because all she could think about when she glanced up was how much she missed his arms around her, his lips against her neck. Then she remembered her anger that he could walk away from everything they had. She let out a sigh as she watched him on his way down the path, walking away from her once again.

"Are you alright, mother?" Matthew asked softly, his hand lightly resting on her arm so not as to startle her. "You've been a little quiet tonight."

She turned, finally returning her attention back to the occupants of the room. "I'm fine, my darling boy. A little tired."

He didn't believe her but he thought better of challenging her further, or dwelling on the sadness that seemed to engulf her. "And our news?"

A real smile lit up her face. "I couldn't be happier. My first grandchild." She paused, glancing briefly towards the window. "You won't find yourselves another doctor, will you?"

Matthew furrowed his brow. "Another doctor? As in a second opinion?" he asked, bemused. "Mary is most certainly pregnant."

Isobel shook her head, lowering her voice. "I know that. I could probably have told you that three weeks ago." In fact she had speculated as much late one night as she and Richard lay sated and exhausted. "What I mean to say, is that Richard, Doctor Clarkson, is a good doctor, he would take good care of Mary and the baby."

"I know that. Mother?"

She shook his head. "You should get back to that wife of yours and I think it's time I went home."

"I'll come and see you tomorrow."

Isobel placed her glass on the ornate side table and crossed the room. "Cousin Robert, thank you for a lovely dinner. I would stay a little longer but I'm feeling a little weary tonight." She had been feeling weary for most of the last week, sleep less than forthcoming until she found herself crying herself to sleep. She would wake after a few hours and sleep for the rest of the night would prove elusive. Of course she couldn't share that with any of them because they didn't know that she was hopelessly in love, or falling to pieces or that she was no longer sure she wanted to stay in Downton.

A few minutes later Carson helped her into the car and she was riding down the drive to another night of staring at the ceiling.

...

Comments, as always, gratefully received.


	4. A Son's Plea

Part Four

The sound of the front door opening and closing had echoed through the house, followed by the quiet chatter of familiar voices. A few minutes later she heard his footsteps running up the stairs and pattering along the corridor. True to his word, he rapped on her door and stuck his head around the door frame.

"Good morning, mother."

Isobel looked up from her dressing table and couldn't help but smile. "My darling boy, what are you doing here?"

He crossed the room and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his mother's cheek, lingering to admire her. "You are looking quite beautiful this morning. I like what you've done with your hair."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to borrow money, and I'm sure they're feeding you at the house, so?" Isobel wasn't suspicious in nature but Matthew's flippancy with compliments and early morning visits were often accompanied with such requests when he was at university. As he got older, he required less from her and sometimes that saddened her.

"Can't a loving son call to walk his mother to church?" he asked, skilfully avoiding her probing eyes and giving her a cheeky grin.

"That would depend, Matthew, on whether you have an ulterior motive, or not." She rose to her feet, brushing the creases from her skirt and checking her hair one final time in the mirror. "But in any case I will graciously accept."

"Good." He cast his gaze around the room, appraising the room, looking for signs as to why his mother seemed so unhappy, his face falling as he noticed the small brown suitcase resting on the armchair. "Were you planning on going away and leaving me?" he asked, his tone somewhat pathetic and whiny.

Isobel squeezed his hand, briefly closing her eyes as she prepared what to tell him. When she had asked Moseley to bring her luggage down from the attic it had been on a whim. She'd had no clear plans just a need to do something other than sit and wallow. In the few days the case had been sitting there she had come to a decision, although she still wasn't convinced that she could go through it with it. Even under the circumstances. Taking a deep breath and fixing a tight smile on her lips, she nodded, "Going away, yes my darling, without telling you, no. I wouldn't do that. I received a letter from Myrtle and Alfred, and it was filled with news from Manchester, and I realised it had been so long since I had last been there." The words tumbled from her mouth, the excuses and explanations had that had been concocted in her head now said with certainty. "And you have Mary now, and a baby on the way, and I've given up working at the hospital, and with all this spare time . . . Well to cut a long story short, I've decided to pay them a visit." Maybe, she added in her head.

"Oh." He furrowed his brow as he studied his mothers face, knowing in his heart that she was hiding something. "For how long, may I ask?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month."

As they stood in the middle of her bedroom, Isobel avoiding his gaze, he realised that she had been trying to hide something from him for a long time. What she probably hadn't realised was that she wasn't quite as good at it as she once was, or possibly he had become better with age at reading her. The problem he was now faced with was making her want to tell him. That, unfortunately was the part he hadn't gotten any better at. "I'll miss you," he said, offering a small smile and holding her hand a little tighter. "We all will."

Isobel scoffed lightly. "You maybe, the others probably won't even notice. Anyway, I'll be back before you know it."

"I'm sure the doctor will miss you," he said, attempting to be nonchalant but instead coming across as teasing. She tried hard to mask it but he caught the momentary pain in her eyes. "Well in any case I should make the most of still having you here. Shall we go?"

For a second she thought he knew, not that he could possible know the extent of it, not when they had gone to great pains to be discreet. His tone suggested he was amused by the notion and had it not been for the fact the relationship had reached its natural conclusion she may have enquired how he really felt about the prospect. Instead his words only made her think about Richard and how far away Manchester was, and how much she already missed him. Hiding her pain behind the mask she had careful constructed over the years she took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the door.

As they made their way through the house and next door to the churchyard, their conversation turned to the baby and how life was about to change forever. Distracted by Matthew's long, unsuitable list of baby names, she didn't notice him, standing by the grave stones until they were almost at his side.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson," Matthew said, as they reached the archway that led into the church. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Good morning, Mr Crawley. Mrs Crawley." Richard smiled warmly at both of them, his eyes as always seeking out hers, holding her gaze a little longer than needed. She looked tired, he noted, and a little wane but as beautiful as ever. "Everything looks so much more radiant in the sunshine.

Matthew glanced between his mother and the doctor and in a second had his suspicions confirmed. As much as they were trying not to look at each other, they were both failing miserably. They both looked equally sad as they stood barely inches apart, hands clasped nervously at their sides. He could, he mused, lead his mother away and break the uncomfortable silence that lingered, but if he had learnt anything from his mother, it was that interfering wasn't always the wrong thing to do. "Please, why don't you sit with us today. I have something I wish to speak to you about, and maybe I can save you from the merry widows club," he added in a voice that was barely audible, glancing at the group of women staring in their direction.

Richard knew that he should decline, fashion an excuse and save them both from having to sit so inexplicably close to each other, but despite everything he wanted to be near her. "I would like that very much, Mr Crawley."

"Mother," Matthew said, once more offering her his arm as she remained in the same spot, gazing into the distance.

"Sorry, I was a million miles away." She forced a smile and allowed him to guide her to a pew near the front, surprised and relived when he ushered her in before settling himself between her and the doctor.

Matthew passed her a hymn book and she distracted herself in looking for the first hymn rather than trying to make conversation with the two men she loved more than life itself.

"You wanted to discuss something with me," she heard Richard say, his voice cascading over her, bringing forth a sudden rush of love.

"May I come to your office later?" Matthew replied. "It may take some time."

"Of course."

Isobel turned to glance at her son, frowning, but the sound of the organ prevented her from asking him the questions that prayed on her mind. As the congregation rose she promised herself that she would challenge him later, however difficult the situation.

...

Very little happened at the hospital on Sunday afternoons. The staff took the opportunity to write up notes and inventory the drugs cupboard while the patients enjoyed time with their families. Richard had little call to be there, or at least when he was with Isobel, had spent the time indulging in more pleasant activities. Now that he no longer had her there seemed little point being anywhere else but there.

There was a knock at the door and he opened it, expecting one of the nurses with his afternoon cup of tea. Instead he found himself face to face with Matthew. "Good afternoon."

"I'm sorry to disturb you but I felt it was important that I speak to you sooner rather than later," he started then asked, "Do you always work on a Sunday?"

Richard shook his head. "I work whenever I'm needed. Please, come in and take a seat. I'd offer you some tea but my nurses seem to be busy elsewhere."

Matthew crossed the room but remained standing, silence echoing between them as Richard waited for the younger man to start and Matthew tried to decide what to say.

"Is it about Lady Mary?" Richard finally asked when the silence seemed to be never ending. "Is she not feeling well? Do you have concerns?"

He shook his head. "My wife is fine, she is resting. This is about my mother."

His stomach did a weird flip at the mention of the woman he adored, then a blind panic set in. "Is something wrong with Isobel, Mrs Crawley? She seemed fine this morning."

Matthew took a sharp intake of breath and decided nothing ventured nothing gained. "What's upsetting my mother?"

"I don't know," Richard lied, wondering if the situation could be any more difficult. "I haven't spoken to her in the last few days, except briefly last night at Downton."

"My mother is deeply sad. She is, as always, putting on a brave face, but I haven't seen her this unhappy since my father died. And I know it has to do with you as she hasn't been near the hospital in over a week."

Richard settled his gaze on the floor, debating the merits of honesty versus sending Matthew back to his mother. "Is this likely to turn into pistols at dawn?"

Matthew laughed, and the tension seemed to dissipate. "I don't think we need to fight over her honour. But, please. I hate to see her like this."

"I'm not sure you can understand."

"Really, have you not born witness to my relationship with Mary. We, Crawleys do not choose an easy path."

It wasn't that he didn't love Isobel, far from it, he just wasn't sure he was good enough. More than that, he didn't want her to be judged by others for falling in love with someone socially unsuitable. "By the fact that you have come here I gather that you are aware of the friendship that has developed between your mother and I."

Matthew arched an eyebrow but remained silent.

"I respect her, admire her and value her friendship beyond words." Words would never come anywhere near expressing the depth of his feelings.

"Love her?" Matthew asked, his voice barely audible despite the silence of the room. He didn't really need to hear the doctor admit it, it was written all over his face for all to see.

Richard lowered his head, focusing on his feet. "As inappropriate as any relationship between us would be, yes I do." It was the first time he had said it out loud to anyone other than Isobel and he found such an utterance was not as difficult as he thought it would be.

"Well at least I know the fight wasn't because your feelings aren't reciprocated. My mother may keep many things guarded, is fiercely protective of her privacy, but it is clear that she is very fond of you."

"For it to be that easy." Richard took a deep breath. "A simple conversation unveiled the fact we had reached a cross roads. We both rightly or wrongly wanted different things."

"Please don't tell me after four years you have called it a day." There was no doubt it his mind, despite the doctors comments to the contrary, that they were in a relationship, the nature of which he did not want to dwell on. There had been too many evenings when his mother had declined invitations to dinner, had chosen to work long hours in the hospital, and had allowed his name to drop into conversations, for there to be nothing between them.

He allowed himself a wry smile. "She has been my closest friend and confident for nigh on nine years." It was an admittance of sorts but he chose not to elaborate.

"And there is no way for the two of you to fix this?" Matthew asked, his tone despondent.

"We are both men of profession, Mr Crawley, men who have witnessed the world in one context or another, it must be abundantly clear that any relationship, should it ever become public knowledge, would be disapproved of."

"The world is a different place than it was nine years ago, Richard. We have changed, most of us for the better, my mother included. I don't think Downton would consider news of you and my mother scandalous," Matthew said sincerely. "In fact those of us that love her and care about you, would be happy that you have found each other."

Richard shook his head, opening his mouth to speak when Matthew continued. "I am right in thinking that it is you who wishes to keep your relationship private."

"Yes." He allowed himself a small smile, wondering whether her son would be shocked if he knew the extent of his mothers wishes.

"Oh my, she wants to get married, doesn't she?" He started to laugh. "Good on her." His smile disappeared. "You really need to speak to her."

"We spoke at length to no avail," Richard offered, lowering himself finally into his chair. "Nothing has changed."

Matthew shook his head, edging his body forward to lean on the back of the visitors chair. "No, you really do need to talk to her."

"Is there something you want to share with me?" Richard asked, furrowing his brow, his tone now one of concern.

She hadn't sworn him to secrecy, but then he doubted she expected him to rush out and tell the doctor. Matthew pursed his lips as he debated whether to share his news. Deciding he was more than willing to deal with his mothers wrath, he remarked, "My mother has the inclination to travel to Manchester. We have friends there and she thinks it might do her some good."

Richard let out a deep sigh. "She's running away."

"Yes," Matthew replied simply. "She has a tendency to do that. There were some difficult years with my father. . . " he trailed off, contemplating what he was about to share. "Time and distance seemed to improve things for a period. Now whenever she feels things slipping away she packs up and leaves. You remember her sudden trip to Paris."

"I'm not sure anything I say will change her mind," he stated firmly. "I can't promise her the things she needs. I am a simple man, a doctor, from a middle class family in Edinburgh. Maybe I'm a little too old to usurp the world order."

"Dr Clarkson, Richard, despite where we live, the family we are now part of, my mother and I are from a nice middle class family. We have always strived to enjoy the simple things in life. She loves you, very much from what I can tell. You seem to love her, and you're a good man. I couldn't ask for more for the woman who gave up her life to be here for me. All she needs is you and there has to be a way for you to meet her need, I can't believe otherwise."

"I don't know."

"Maybe I'm being selfish in wanting her to be happy here. But I love her too, and I want my child to have at least one family member around who can made mud pies and shower them in kisses without embarrassment. So please, if there is anything you can do, if you have any sway over my mother, please convince her not to go."

"Maybe a break would do her good," he offered candidly.

"If she leaves now without settling whatever it is that has happened with you, it never will be settled," he argued. "I know she has talked from time to time about returning to Manchester, and my greatest fear is that she will move back."

Richard turned to the window, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm not sure she'll listen to me."

"She loves you."

"I'll call on her, but if she wants to go, I won't stop her, but I would like us to part on good terms."

Matthew nodded. "That's all I ask. Thank you." He turned to move towards the door.

"Thank you for telling me," Richard said, crossing to shake his hand.

"Thank you for being willing to talk to her." As they shook hands he added, "And if it means anything, you have my blessing."

Richard let out a deep sigh. "It means a lot," he acknowledged.


	5. Bereft Of All Words

This is the penultimate chapter and I hope you enjoy.

Bereft Of All Words

Richard paced up and down on the gravel path, gazing back at the house each time he heard the slightest of noise, waiting for the door to open. He had tried to resist the inclination to rush round the minute Matthew had left, going home to change, fixing himself dinner, and opening a book, intent on reading, but Matthews words had left him reeling and he found he couldn't concentrate on anything but her. The food had gone cold, the book discarded and his mind had been made up. Which is how he found himself waiting less than patiently for Moseley to open the door. He made another pass of the door, coming to a halt as he heard the squeak of the hinges and saw the door swing open.

"Doctor?" the Butler said by way of greeting, surprise evident in his voice as he hovered in the doorway. When there had been a knock at the door the last person he had been expecting was the doctor and he felt sure that the lady of the house would be equally taken aback. His protective streak had kicked in and he found himself squaring his shoulders and blocking the entrance, lest he should upset her again.

"Good evening, Mr Moseley, is Mrs Crawley at home?" Richard asked in a tone more polite and casual than he thought he could manage.

"It's rather late, Doctor, I'm not sure. . ."

Richard frowned at the chipped tone and glanced at his watch. "It's only seven thirty. I just need a few minutes? It's important that I speak to her . . . tonight." So what if in the scheme of things it wasn't life affirming or earth shattering, he decided, it was probably the most important thing he had to do, and the brusque town of the Butler was not going to put him off. ****

"If you will wait here."****

The door closed in his face and the pacing resumed as he waited, up and down the garden path, footsteps crunching once more on the gravel. The longer he was made to wait, the more frustrated he became. His thoughts fleeted from one thing to another, from memories of happier times to replaying the argument that had set them on this path, to hoping she would see him rather than deny him a few minutes of her time, rehearsing what he wanted to say, debating how much he was willing to compromise on the things he held dear to win back the woman he adored.****

Moseley returned after a few minutes and opened the door wider, offering him entry. "If you will wait in the drawing room, Mrs Crawley will join you presently." As he closed the door and showed him down the familiar hallway, he asked perfunctorily, " May I get you some tea, or coffee?"****

"Tea would be perfect, thank you," Richard politely replied, although in truth he had been rather hoping for something a little stronger to settle his nerves.****

The door closed with a soft click as Moseley headed back to the kitchen and Richard found himself alone in the Drawing Room. He allowed his eyes to survey the room, a smile forming on his lips as he noted that it looked the same as it always did, his former presence still evident. The small pile of books remained on the side table, most still unread despite the many evenings they had planned to spend reading together, other activities distracting them. His fingers ran over the soft knitted rug thrown over the back of the armchair, a further reminder of the cold evenings spent curled up and his eyes finally fell on the two sweater sofa, the same one where they spent many an evening discussing the days papers. The room held too many memories of happier times and his smile faltered; with a deep sigh he crossed to the window, preferring to stare at the orange hues of dusk than at the reminders of them.****

"Good evening, Richard," Isobel said as she opened the door and stepped hesitantly into it. She had been standing in her room, staring at the mirror for the last few minutes, torn between a longing to see him again and dreading a finality to everything she had hoped for. In the end it had been her love for him and the intensity with which she missed him that had propelled her from her room. "Moseley said you needed to speak to me with some urgency," she added, her tone having a cold edge, preferring to distance herself from the inevitable rather than reveal her vulnerability.****

Richard turned slowly, his breath catching as he saw her. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to appraise her, taking in her attire, the simple blue tea dress accentuating the soft curves of her figure. She looked small and fragile and he inwardly reprimanded himself for being the cause of it. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something but I felt that I should do this tonight rather than wait until tomorrow."****

Isobel took a deep breath, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes focusing on the wall behind him rather than on his face, only too aware of how heady a combination of his eyes, fixed solely on her, and the familiar Scottish idiom could be . "I was just about to settle down for the evening and catch up on some reading. Please take a seat." For a brief moment she had hoped he was coming to say he had changed his mind, to apologise and say that he could not live another day without her but now that she was face to face with him she realised that was wishful thinking. ****

Richard crossed the room and waited for her to take the armchair before he settled himself on the sofa across from her. A less than companionable silence descended on the room as he tried to prepare what he wanted to say, all the while aware of her eyes watching him carefully.****

Moseley knocked, placed a tray of tea on the coffee table between them and hovered, seconds turning into minutes before she spoke her words of thanks, effectively dismissing him.**  
**  
Finding herself alone again with him, Isobel distracted herself by stirring the pot before pouring tea into two each cup and adding a little milk to each, sugar to his. As she handed him a saucer, their hands brushed, a solitary spark of electricity shooting between them, and he knew then there would never be another woman for him.****

"Thank you," he heard himself say, too distracted by the knowledge he had been a fool, to look at her.****

"Are you ever going to tell me what it is that has brought you to my door, and caused Moseley to bristle like a yard brush?" she asked quietly but with a hint of mirth in her tone. As much as she had wanted him to be here, sitting on her couch, she found she could not bear the atmosphere that swirled between them. Resolved that this would be the end, she needed it to be over swiftly, leaving her to grieve alone.****

Richard rose to his feet, finding courage in motion. "Matthew tells me you're going away," he said, his tone sounding pathetic and hurt even to his own ears.****

She let out a frustrated sigh. "He had no right to tell you anything." In truth she had wondered if her son had something to do with the unexpected visit, his early departure after lunch somewhat of an indication that he was up to something.****

"He thinks you're running away."****

"Well, you would know all about that," she retorted, more accusatory than angry, rising shakily to her feet and turning her back to him.****

"Oh Isobel." He moved towards her and watched despondent as she stiffened. ****

"Please don't. I am being a silly old woman, who should quite frankly know better. So please don't pity me." Love me, she wanted to plead, but don't acknowledge what I have become.****

He shook his head and closed the distance between them. "I do not, and have never, pitied you, my darling."****

Turning slightly, Isobel gazed up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "You left me."****

The three simple words spoken with such sadness spoke volumes and he hated himself for causing her to feel such loneliness.****

"My beautiful Isobel, my darling girl, since the first time I met you, you have left me bereft of all words," he said intently, standing so close that he could, if she allowed, wrap his arms around her.****

Her eyes sparkled just a little and she managed a small smile at the familiar Shakespeare quote. It had become their thing, she supposed, to read the sonnets, the plays, anything really where she could listen to the timbre of his voice. ****

"But I never meant to leave you."His hand moved to her face, his fingertips tracing the line of her jaw. "Are you going to leave, and I don't mean to visit friends, I mean Downton for good? Because if anyone should leave, move away, it should be me. Your family is here."****

"I don't want you to leave," she said with such conviction it surprised both of them. "I just . . ."

"Just what, my darling?" he hesitantly asked.

Isobel shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.****

He took her face in his hands without preamble, without consideration, and kissed her ardently on the mouth. The kiss deepened as he found her a more than willing participant, her fingers finding their way into his hair, her mouth parting to allow his tongue entry. "Sorry," he mumbled as they finally broke apart, not yet relinquishing his hold on her. "I should not have done that."****

"No, you probably shouldn't have," she admitted, holding his gaze steadily until his hands dropped to his sides and he turned away. "Nothing has changed, has it? You still can't accept this, us, the idea of marrying me, can you?" Although she had been anticipating it since she had first caught sight of him by the window, Isobel felt the air leave her lungs, her breath catching in her throat in the knowledge this was the reality.****

He turned slowly, his eyes betraying nothing.****

"Are we to remain friends, drawn together at social gatherings, discussing village life over tea?"****

"Something like that would bear our social status," Richard agreed, unsure of how they could ever pull such a feat off when they loved each other so desperately.****

She laughed bitterly. "As if that matters to me."****

"But it does to me. Isobel, my darling, the love of my life, I am, and can never be worthy of you, or of calling myself your husband. You must see that. I am just a doctor," he explained, his tone one of a father placating a child. As his hands moved through the air, punctuating his words, he continued resolutely, "I can never keep you in the life you have become accustomed to. I do not even own the cottage I live in. When I'll retire I'll have nothing except my meagre savings."****

Isobel shook her head vehemently, still not willing to accept what he obliviously considered inevitable. "Matthew will make sure we have somewhere to live."****

It was his turn to laugh coldly. "But that is not how it should be, how I would want it. If we were to announce ourselves publicly, it would be expected that I ask for your hand, provide a home for us."****

"Or there is the house in Manchester. We could sell it. Or even live there away from the harbingers of evil," she continued, her thoughts so carefully considered for days now flowing freely. "A good doctor is needed everywhere." And he was a good doctor, and a wonderful man, one that had given her the world by merely loving her. ****

"And away from your son, and your grandchild. I could never do that to you. And I do not want anyone to think I am marrying you for anything less than love," he petitioned****

"My darling man, I know that. And I don't rightly care what everyone else thinks."****

"Which is becoming increasingly apparent," he retorted testily. ****

She scoffed. "Marriage is about love, making a commitment that outlasts life's little ups and downs, being with the one person that makes you complete. Look at Anna and Mr Bates, Mary and Matthew. You make me complete. I would gladly live in a one up one down if it meant I could begin and end each day in your arms," she passionately declared, moving around the room so quickly it was making him giddy. "if it meant sharing your day and your life. I would enjoy drinking tea and eating sandwiches when you return home after a long shift, as we have on many a night, just to know that you are mine and I am yours. I really don't care about the rest of it."****

"The problem is that I do." In another century, if they were from another class none of it would matter. "You're amazing, and beautiful and everything I have ever needed."****

"And you are far too stubborn and principled."****

Richard let out a deep groan, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. They were going round in circles, nothing having changed, and the longer they discussed the issue at hand the further they moved from discussing her impending trip. "So where does this leave us? Can you settle for the love of a man who adores you. Can you willing continue to sneak in and out of my bed, have me do the same with yours?"****

"I've never had a problem with that." She smiled mildly. Nothing had changed in her heart, she wanted to marry him, but she could settle for less, if it meant they would still be together, and in time maybe he would come around. "We could just take a leaf out of our regency contemporaries and live in sin."****

Richard arched an eyebrow, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. "Live in sin?" The idea amused him, although it shouldn't knowing her as he did. "You don't think people, Moseley, your cousins, would notice if I was suddenly living here?"

"And what if they did?" she countered. ****

There was a knock on the door and Moseley appeared. "It's getting late, Mrs Crawley." He glanced sternly at the doctor. "Do you need anything?"****

She shook her head, glancing at Richard and making a decision. "No, you can lock up."****

Momentarily a look of surprise crossed across his face but he nodded. "Yes, Mrs Crawley."****

"He's going to wonder what's going on. I'm wondering what's going on?" Richard said when the door closed and she came to a standstill before him.****

"Please stay the night, Richard," she demanded softly.****

"Isobel!"****

"I don't care about tomorrow, or that you won't be here when I wake up, all I care about right now is that I don't have to spend another night without you." She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the sofa. "I am not too proud to admit that I have missed you."****

"I've missed you too," he admitted, not in the least but embarrassed to say it. "Very much."****

"Then stay."


	6. The Light Before Dawn

**So I have finally finished this. I wanted to post before the new series starts tomorrow night and I get dragged into writing something new. Hope you enjoy. Comments gratefully received.**

Isobel rolled over onto her back and gingerly opened her eyes. She wasn't sure exactly what had awoken her, only that she now felt cold, and then the memory of the previous evening came flooding back. Stretching her arm she patted the mattress beside her, feeling for his arm, but instead she found the bed empty and for a brief second she panicked. Quickly she sat up, ignoring the rush of blood to her head and the slightly giddy feeling it gave her, and glanced around the darkened room. Her breath came out in a rush of air when she finally made out his form, sitting on the window seat, framed by the faint moonlight through the curtains.

"Go back to sleep," he said, his voice tender, his body barely moving.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling the sheet up and over her chest in an effort to protect her modesty. The fact that they had made love only hours before, his hands ghosting over almost every inch of her skin, his lips trailing a path over and between her breasts was irrelevant. The memory brought forth a feeling of warmth that started low in her stomach and worked it's way up her body.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Then why didn't you wake me?" she asked impatiently. "Why let me sleep?" In the past, before the nonsense of the last week, they had often sat up of a night talking, sometimes reading, but more often than not sharing the most intimate secrets of their lives.

Richard shrugged, not wanting to upset her. He smoothed down his hair with his hand and rubbed what he knew would be eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep. "There seemed little point in both of us sitting up all night and spending tomorrow tired and ill-tempered."

On any other night she might of protested that she was never ill-tempered but it hardly seemed appropriate when she had spent most of the last week so downhearted. He was also, rather annoyingly, right, there was no point them both sitting up when he didn't seem in the mood for talking. "Do you want me to warm you some milk?" she asked, swinging one leg out of bed, intent on locating her robe. "Maybe it would help."

"Isobel." He sighed audibly, wishing he didn't love her so. They had gone from barely speaking to making love, to her wanting to take care of him again, all in the space of a few hours. It was not the way it was supposed to be and solved nothing, which is why once he knew she was asleep he had slipped from the bed, not intending to go home but to think, rationally without being preoccupied by the scent of her hair of the feel of her soft skin against his bare chest.

It was her turn to shrug, her instinct to love and care for him as strong as it had ever been. "Have you slept at all?"

"No." He raised himself from the cushion and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. "I watched you sleep for a while, and then I decided if you found me you'd be mortified," he answered honestly.

"I would be mortified but immensely flattered." She gently took his hand in the darkness, squeezing it reassuringly, urging him to continue.

"For the last little while I have just been thinking."

"That can't be good,"she half joked, her eyes searching his face, hoping for a smile, something to assure her that he had reached a conclusion that wouldn't force her to leave the village.

"Isobel," he warned half-heartedly, his fingers tracing her knuckles as he avoiding making eye contact.

Isobel adjusted the sheet and watched the steady course of his fingertips. "When you allow yourself to think, you begin to over think everything. And look what happened last time." While they had yet to reach anything resembling a satisfactory resolution the last thing she needed was for him to come up with another hundred reasons why they could never be together.

He turned his body slightly. "Even with your son's blessing, we still have more than enough hurdles to overcome. It can never be easy, or simple, or just about what you and I want."

"Which we will do together, no hurdle is insurmountable, most just need careful planning and organization. I'm very good at both. You worry too much about the incidentals."

"Your cousin is hardly an incidental," he chuckled, his imagination once again turning to the Dowager Countess and her reaction when they announced they were lovers, or fiancées or living in sin.

Her eyes narrowed and he could almost see her nostrils flare as she asked, "Violet? Please tell me, darling, that she isn't the reason you ran from my arms."

He looked momentarily chastised. "No. And for the record, sweetheart, I didn't run. I just didn't believe myself worthy of you, of us. And I chose to walk away rather than subject you to profound scrutiny you do not deserve." And, he silently admitted, because I was too chicken to admit that the idea of marriage again scared me senseless. Strangely, almost losing her forever had put that in to perspective.

She scoffed and shifted position until she was knelt by his side, her arms draped across his shoulders. "How can you say that? You are honourable, discrete, loyal, loving and everything you have done in the last week to protect me, proves that."

"Well when you put it like that," he said with a grin. "You know if we could live on love alone we would have one of the most successful marriages in history."

"What else is there?"

He rolled his eyes. As much as he enjoyed her flippancy at times, her unique perspective on life, sometimes he needed her to be more serious. "Financial security, family support, . . ."

Isobel sighed and not for the first time wished they had met before the Granthams had come crashing into her life, when there was just Matthew and her, and their modest home and life. Then maybe it would have been so much more straightforward. "Are you hungry?" she asked, lowering her head onto his shoulder. "I could make us something."

"It's after one, my darling girl. I have to be going soon and you need to sleep." He made a point of always trying to make it home before the milkman did his rounds, before Mrs Bird started breakfast and before Isobel woke. It was easier to slip away in the night if he didn't have to say goodbye; couldn't be lured back into her arms.

Her arms slipped from his shoulders, her body unable to conceal her dejection, her hands falling in her lap, her modesty forgotten.

"Isobel," he whispered, catching her hands and tugging her firmly across his lap. "Please. Just for a little while longer. Please be patient." Richard reached around her and pulled the tangled sheet out from under her bottom and rearranged it over her.

She let out the deepest, saddest sigh. "I shouldn't have made you stay."

"You hardly begged me, or forced me. I stayed because I wanted to, I made love to you because I love you, and for the past week I have barely existed, knowing that I had probably lost you forever."

"Whatever you decide, you must know that I will only love you for the rest of my days," she vowed solemnly.

"And I, you."

Lowering her head to his chest, she began to cry. "This leaves us nowhere." As much as she tried to suppress them, her tears seemed to come unbidden these days.

"Please don't cry, you know I don't like to hear you cry." He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, whispering words of love against her hair. "I'm not going to leave you."

"But you said . . . "

"I am going to go home, and wash and change, and go to work. But I will come by later to see you," he reassured her, wanting to stop the sobs that dampened his chest. "Maybe you could invite Matthew for dinner and the three of us could talk."

Isobel sat up, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears. "Why?"

"Because he gave me his blessing." Silently he tugged at the blanket, wrapping it around her once more and holding the gathering at the small of her back. "Or should I say gave us his blessing."

"He did?"

"Would you expect anything less from the man who loves you as much as I do?" Richard brushed the pads of his fingers over her cheeks. "I have been thinking about what you suggested last night, about living together."

Her brow furrowed and she could not hide her surprise. "You have?"

"Of course. And I came to the conclusion that Downton, and especially your cousin are not quite ready for such a bold move," he replied matter-of-factly, needing for her to understand his position.

Her face fell, the tears threatening to fall again.

"So we are going to discuss with Matthew how best to continue. I think we should start with telling those that need to know, which unfortunately means your cousins. There will be no mention of marriage or living in sin. In the meanwhile I will examine my finances and see how best I can provide for you." It wouldn't take long, he mused. "I hope you are serious about living in a one up one down, my darling."

Isobel nodded enthusiastically. "If it means we don't have to go through what we went through the last few days."

"It may take a while for me to find somewhere that we can afford and that you deserve but when we do then we can talk about marriage and living together." It would have to be somewhere that needed work, and the time it would take would give him time to adjust to the idea of marriage. "For now will you permit me to court you openly, while I ravish you in private?"

"How can one resist such an proposition," she observed with a wide genuine smile.

"You won't go away now, will you?" he asked, his tone laced with apprehension, acknowledging that why he had made a commitment of sorts it may still not be enough.

Isobel shook her head, knowing in her heart that she couldn't. "I don't think I want to be that far away from you, not just yet."

Richard sighed in relief. "I do love you so very much and while marriage is still not something I feel able to give you, I do not want to be without you."

"All I ask is that we no longer sneak around."

Richard pulled a face as he commented hesitantly, "There may be a slight degree of sneaking around, at least until we can openly live together."

Isobel leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "So a little sneaking and lots of ravishing," she whispered as she kissed him again.

"Lots," he agreed, as he moved his hand to her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair and deepening the kiss.

"Well now that we have that settled," she said, her breath laboured, her eyes dark with desire after a serious of ardent kisses.

Richard grinned unashamedly. "Yes?"

Isobel unwrapped her legs from around his waist and shuffled back onto the bed. The bed covers were a tangled mess, sheets and blankets haphazardly draped on the floor and she dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. "Shall we?"

"I can't stay for long," he repeated, half-heartedly.

"What I have in mind won't take long," she whispered, running her toes along the top of his thigh.

Richard lifted her foot and crawled up the bed to lie beside her. "If you keep doing things like that, not long at all," he growled, claiming her lips once more.

The End


End file.
